


The Accused, James Fraser

by PhaedreCameron



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Multi, Murder Mystery, claire needs to save jamie, dastardly happenings, free jamie, jamie needs to save Claire, outlanderverse comes out to play, this will not involve a courtroom showdown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-07 17:23:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhaedreCameron/pseuds/PhaedreCameron
Summary: James Fraser stands accused of a heinous murder. Forensic psychiatrist, Dr. Claire Beauchamp, is assigned to evaluate his mental competence for trial and John Grey is the prosecutor seeking his conviction. As John and Claire struggle with their personal lives, Fraser’s case is a welcome distraction, but they soon find themselves sucked into his world of honor, whisky, and secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Trying something different..maybe. Originally on Tumblr phaedrecameron

CHAPTER 1

Wincing as she withdrew the needle, Dr. Claire Beauchamp stared at herself in the mirror. It was her second round of hormone shots. She thought back to the sex she’d had that morning with Frank. His desire to be a father. Her wish to become a mother. She was trying to put those things on the same page in her mind when she heard Geillis yell, “ya fall in?”

Smiling, Claire exited the bathroom of her downtown Boston office. Claire Beauchamp, forensic psychiatrist, was taking a rare afternoon off. Geillis and Claire, a Scot and a Englishwoman, transported to colonies they joked, were fast and unlikely friends. They’d met at the department of motor vehicles five years ago. New immigrants trying to learn to drive on the wrong side of the road.

“I’m all ready to be pampered,” Claire responded.

“Good. It’s my belated birthday gift to ya. You never treat yourself, Claire,” the Scot admonished.

Claire burst into laughter. “You should really hear yourself, you’ve developed the craziest Edinburgh meets Boston accent.”

“Well, once you raise an American son, strange things happen to your speech.”

Claire smiled in response as they made their way to the boutique spa. A glass of champagne and a foot scrub later, Claire’s phone chimed. She checked it and her mood turned. Geillis reached for Claire’s hand. “You don’t have to. He’s not your only option.”

“What?” Claire feigned ignorance.

“You’re not a failure if ya end your marriage. It’s okay to have kids with someone else, or alone, or not at all.”

 _Jesus H Roosevelt Christ_ , thought Claire. Was her face that transparent? “I…we’re actually doing better. The therapy really helped and he’s ready to try for kids again.”

Geillis narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

Claire continued, “he’s been more open and said he’ll consider adopting if this round doesn’t take.”

Geillis, inspecting her pedicure, smiled, but still said nothing.

Frustrated, Claire blurted, “Sandy was a one-off. A symptom of our unaddressed problems. It’s better.”

 

Later, at her home office, just as she was finishing up a mental competency report, Claire heard Frank arrive home. She walked downstairs to greet him.

“Hello dear,” he stated.

“Hi.” “How are you feeling? The shots?”

“Okay, handling it better than last time I think.”

Frank walked from the foyer into the light of their living room. It was then Claire noticed that his hair was damp.

“Did you just shower?”

“Oh, yes, this paper is not progressing the way I hoped and the deadline for the symposium is next month. Decided to go to the gym to get a clear head.”

“Ah, I see,” Claire smiled.

“Do you mind if we try in the morning? I’m knackered and just showered.” Frank explained.

“Of course, I’ve a new case I’d like to get a jump on anyway.”

“Always the owl, goodnight Claire.”

They separated at the top of the stairs. Claire went back to her office and Frank to their bedroom. Claire sat at her desk trying not to think. Frank always preferred to exercise in the morning. Late night sessions left him “too wired” he had said when she tried to invite him to evening classes at Geillis’ yoga studio.

Suddenly, she remembered Geillis’ face. A mix of pity and empathy as she spoke of Frank. Claire forced the image from her mind and opened the secure VPN to her downtown office. Right before her afternoon off, the court had appointed her to evauate the mental status of a murder suspect.

She checked the assigning notes from her boss and friend, Dr Joesph Abernathy.

_Lady Jane,_

_Looks like you hit the big time. The court, defense AND prosecution want you for this mental status eval. Defendant is from a well known family in your home country. He’s accused of butchering some poor woman he allegedly stalked to the US. He’s got money so expect to be inundated with all sorts of foreign medical/psych docs. Do us proud._

_Joe_

 

Claire clicked open the file labeled FRASER, JAMES. CASE #19461743

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2 - 1370

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire discovers James Fraser is not her typical case and gets some unwelcome news.

CHAPTER 2. 1370

Dr. Claire Beauchamp was pouring over the Fraser file. She was scheduled to meet Fraser at the county jail in two days time as part of her mental competency eval. She’d already delayed the meeting once due to the voluminous records she’d received from Fraser’s public defender, Mr. Gowan.

The records detailed Fraser’s extensive treatment in his mid twenties for what was believed to be repressed childhood trauma. The exact nature of the trauma was never uncovered, but Fraser was directed to treatment by his family after he was injured in a motorcycle accident.

Claire looked over her handwritten notes.

_Never married_

_No kids_

_No criminal record_

_No history of violence_

_No drug or alcohol dependency_

_No history of diagnosed mental illness, but exposure to mental health treatment_

_Above average IQ (fluent in multiple languages)_

_Educated (degree international relations & business) _

_Athletically gifted (rugby)_

_Privileged background_

She shook her head. It read as an embellished online dating profile as opposed to the background of a sloppy rage killer.

She picked up a crime scene photo. The attack was brutal and unfocused.

Next, Claire pulled out Fraser’s booking photo. While he was classically attractive, he didn’t appeal to her. She didn’t like large men and never found gingers attractive, but there was something in his eyes.

_Kindness? Intelligence? Vulnerability?_

She took a sip of her Earl Grey and turned to her computer.

Claire googled Fraser’s family; the MacKenzies of Leoch. His family had been producing quality whisky for over 200 years. They’d built a world wide empire. Even Claire knew of the brand.

The CEO was Jacob MacKenzie, Fraser’s maternal grandfather and by all accounts a bastard. It was during his tenure that the company became a true force. After a power struggle during Fraser’s teens, Jacob was forced out and replaced by Fraser’s mother, Ellen. Her role was short lived as she died of breast cancer not two years later. Since that time, Fraser’s uncles, Colum and Dougal have reigned, with elder siblings William and Janet holding important positions in the company.

Claire pursed her lips in puzzlement as she navigated through the official website of MacKenzie Whisky Ltd. The business had always been a family affair. Uncles, cousins, in laws all swept up in the vortex of the company. The MacKenzies even proudly and meticulously displayed their family’s lineage to the time of the Bonnie Prince, but there was hardly mention of James Fraser.

A surge of heartburn hit her chest. Eighteenth century Scotland was Frank’s area of expertise. Claire’s profession had always been her sanctuary. The thought of Frank knowing more about a topic relevant to her work made her nauseous.

She breathed deep, reached for her mug of Earl Grey, and continued reading. Fraser’s only involvement with the company was through its philanthropic endeavors. He was allegedly involved in the company’s out reach programs in Southern Africa and Latin America.

_Exiled or running awa_ y? Claire scribbled on her notepad.

Claire knew the UK and US media was portraying Fraser as the cliché rich, entitled man-child playboy. Yet, there was nothing to support that. His only brush with notoriety was in his late teens with a brief relationship with Annalise de Marillac, herself a French winery heiress.

Claire rose to get the standardized mental competency checklist she had printed out earlier. Upon her return, the light blinked on her office phone. She groaned at the thought of retrieving the voicemail via the phone’s needlessly complicated audio menu. Instead she pushed a button to access the missed call log.

_Dr. Phaedre Camero_ n followed by phone number with an area code she didn’t recognize.

_Cameron_? thought Claire, _was she being haunted by Scots_? _And Phaedre_? Intrigued she played the voicemail.

    _Hello, I’m trying to reach Dr. Beauchamp_ , said the deep and full female voice. _My name’s Phae_ …

Claire registered the woman’s speech. Though she had been living in the US for years, she was shit at deciphering American accents. Was the woman from Texas? Alabama?

… _professor of history at North Carolina, Chapel H_ ……

Claire slammed her hand on the phone to silence the message. Her stomach knotted and sweat broke out under her arms. Shaking, she minimized the MacKenzie home page and googled Dr. Phaedre Cameron. She tried to fight the panic that was fast overtaking her.

After using a few variations in spelling for ‘Phaedre,’ Claire found what she needed. There, on the web page for the history department of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, was a photo and the professional bio of Dr. Cameron. Claire’s heart slowed infinitesimally.

Claire studied the woman’s face. A pretty African-American woman in her mid 30s with skin the color rich hot chocolate.She was accomplished. She made tenure early and had been published multiple times over. All things that were decidedly not Frank’s type. Still, the rock in Claire’s stomach didn’t budge.

Cameron’s area of study was the Gullah Geechee – descendants of enslaved African peoples who developed a distinct culture and language while isolated on islands off the coasts of the Carolinas. Claire’s stomach started to settle. Their fields didn’t overlap and Frank had nothing with which to impress this woman.

Then her heart stopped. The last entry noted Cameron’s planned presentation at the upcoming Harvard history symposium. It was to mark her new research focus. _The Scottish ancestry and cultural influences on African Americans due to mass migration and transportation of Scottish people to Colonial America following the failed ’45 Rising and Clearance_ s.

Claire stood, her body vibrating with anger and shame. She was furious at Frank, but more furious at herself. How had she allowed herself to be put in this position? Yet another of his mistresses coming to claim him? Return him? How stupid had she been!! She pounded her fist on the desk. Her hand unclenching onto Fraser’s photo.


	3. Res Judicata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Grey enters the case.

One month previous

“Dottie! Dottie, over here!”

Dorothea Grey turned to see her mother frantically waiving to get her attention.

Dottie immediately smiled and returned a waive of her own. She grabbed the hand of her husband, Denzell, yanking him through the crowd of raucous 4th of July revelers.

Dodging hot dogs, BBQ, and Americana, the pair reached their target; the posh table of her parents, Hal and Minnie Grey.

Harold and Minerva Grey were at the top of Boston society. Hal could trace his lineage to one the signatories of the Declaration of Independence and Minnie, a descendant of the revolution era female political playwright, Mercy Otis Warren.

Every American Independence Day, the Greys hosted an elaborate celebration at their Pardloe Estate right outside of Boston. Their element was the rich, powerful and connected.

“Well attended as always,” said a familiar voice near Dottie’s ear. Before she could turn, she was embraced from behind by her uncle, John Grey.

John released her and came around to notice she was still holding Denzell‘s hand. He quickly smirked at her and took a seat near his brother and sister in law.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” John added, clutching his sweating gin and tonic.

John, of course, knew what was to come. Dottie had flown in from San Francisco a few days earlier to break the news or test the waters, he didn’t know which, regarding her new love. He chuckled to himself watching her squirm.

At 26 to his 31, Dottie was the sister he never had, as opposed to his niece. Dottie was always self assured, she was four years into a dual MD/PHd program in global health. Earlier in the week, Dottie had asked for advice on telling her parents she had eloped and was possibly pregnant by a Southern California medical school drop out, who now taught tourists how to paddleboard.

John had assured her, that her parents loved her and would come to respect her choice as long as he came with a prenup. John, was an attorney, working as a prosecutor in the Boston District Attorney’s Office for the last 5 years. The Greys had money, old money, and old money is often ill gotten. It made his family a target.

Brought back the present, John looked at the reaction of Dottie’s parents and her two younger brothers as she introduced Denzell. Denzell moved forward, extending a hand to Hal and then Minnie.

“Senator Grey. Ms. Grey.” Silence

“Welcome to the family,” blurted Henry, Dottie’s younger brother.

  
Hours later, John was in his office in the major crimes division. It was deserted for the long weekend, but John knew it was the only place to calm his nerves.

He had anticipated his brother’s heavy handed reaction, but he had not expected Dottie’s announcement to rip off the carefully scabbed over rift in the brothers’ own relationship. John fought back the tears of frustration that were threatening to fall.

“Damn you all!” he yelled and pushed a tower of files from his desk.

His phone lay on the floor, partially obscured by a ballistics report. As he reached for it, the screen illuminated with a text from Minnie.

“He didn’t mean it.”

_He sure as fuck did_ , thought John.   
  
Ignoring Minnie’s text, John noticed an orange file had been placed on his chair. Orange meant murder, high profile. He grabbed the file, quickly scanning the post it note stuck to its front by his division chief, Harry Quarry.

_Grey,_  
I’m assigning this murder to you. Has press coverage, so everything needs to be spotless. Lots of discovery still forthcoming. Case Agents are Detectives Thomas Christy and John Cinnamon. Make contact before filing.   
HQ

Just the distraction he needed, John opened the file.

SUSPECT: James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser; WMA; age 33; British National, Born Inverness, Scotland. In the United States on a tourist visa. In custody in lieu of $1 million bail on suspicion of first degree murder. U.K. embassy notified.

VICTIM: Laoghaire MacKenzie; WFA; aged 25; deceased; British National, born Broch Mordha, Scotland. In the United States on a work visa. U.K. embassy notified. Next of kin notification pending. Preliminary Cause of Death – multiple stab/puncture wounds to the neck, chest and abdomen. Autopsy pending.   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Claire meets Jamie. Probably.....:)


	4. JNOV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets Jamie

“I’m here to see James Fraser,” Claire announced to the male guard manning the front desk.

“So, you’re the shrink trying to get him off?” replied the man, barely looking up from his phone.

Claire was not in the mood. It had been two days since she learned of Frank’s affair. She hadn’t taken any action on that front. Yet.

“I guarantee accused persons are fit to stand trial and to be judged accordingly. I don’t ‘get people off.’”

The guard looked up then. He stared at Claire, his eyes landing on her chest. “Oh, I’m sure you get ‘lots off,’ Dr. Beauchamp.” He smiled and directed Claire to an empty interview room. Claire ignored his look as she sat and prepared for the eval.

As she pulled out her note pad, the door opened and James Fraser was led in by two guards.

Claire sat motionless.

She was prepared for his size, but not the way he moved. He was like a jaguar slipping through the night; graceful and lethal.

“Sit and behave, Fraser,” said a guard.

Fraser wordlessly took the seat opposite her. She then noticed his hair. It was color of liquid gold swimming in Brunello.

“Hands!” Said the second guard.

Fraser put his hands on the table. His already handcuffed hands were then secured to a metal hook imbedded in the steel of the table.

He looked at her then. His _eyes_. What she had seen as vulnerability was actually power known and held in leash. She felt herself swallow.

“Dr. Beauchamp,” said the first guard, “we’ll be right outside if you need us.”

Claire registered the close of the door. They were alone.

Claire looked down briefly to grab her pen. When she looked up, his face was a mask and he was still staring directly at her. She noted two small scars on his right cheek. _Rugby injury_? She then watched as his gaze shifted from her hair to her eyes; from her eyes down to her lips and from her lips to her hands, where her gold wedding band was visible.

Claire suddenly felt exposed. _What on Earth_? She cleared her throat.

 “I’m Dr. Beauchamp. I’ve been assigned by the court to evaluate your mental status. I’m not your doctor and what you tell me is not confidential. If you speak to me, I will prepare a report that will be provided to your lawyer, the prosecutor, the judge. It will become part of the record. Do you understand?”

It was a test. Claire used her strongest English accent to gauge Fraser’s response.

“Aye,” he responded; clear and direct.

If he was surprised by her Englishness, it didn’t show.

_Not easily shocked, tightly controlled emotions,_ Claire scribbled on her notepad.

“How are you feeling today?” Claire asked.

“Better than ye, lass.”

Her head shot up to look at him. She felt irritation bubble up inside her. _Was he making a joke? Wasting her time? Mocking her?_

Sensing her ire, he finally looked away.

Reluctantly, Claire added _perceptive_ to her notepad.

“I understand ye’ve a job to do. I won’t hinder ye from doing it. Ask yer questions, Dr.”

Claire detected the surrender in his deep voice.

She nodded and continued with the exam. “Do you know where you are and why you’re here?”

“Aye, I’m in the Boston jail, charged with murder.”

“Who is your lawyer? And what does he do?”

“Ned Gowan, a canty fellow, given his work,” replied Fraser. His mood seemed to lighten thinking of the ancient lawyer. “He’s defending me against the Crown…I mean State,” he quickly corrected himself with a slight smile.

Claire felt herself beginning to return his smile.

_Jesus, was it the hormones she’d stopped…he’s not even your type_ …

She brushed an errant curl from her face and scribbled _charming_ on her notepad. She looked at his hands; large and strong. Did he use his charm on Laoghaire Mackenzie?

Claire refocused, “You’ve had mental health treatment in the past, yes? Ever prescribed medication in the course of your treatment?

Fraser’s mask returned, “Ambien only, couldna sleep for a long while.”

“And now?” Claire asked, as she noted two of Fraser’s fingers beginning to tap the table.

“Now, I sleep as well as anyone.”

That would be the only evasive answer Fraser would give. Question after question, his responses were all the same. Accurate and concise, but his face was unreadable. He knew and understood the charges against him and he could rationally assist in his defense. He was competent for trial.

She felt her irritation return. _Why was she here? How had he convinced everyone that he was mentally unable to handle a trial? What type of game was he playing at?_

“Ye’ve everything you need doctor?” Fraser inquired.

Claire hesitated, not really knowing why, but she chanced a look back into his eyes. She saw his strength and for a second his mask fell away and she saw sadness. His fingers tapped the table and the mask returned.

“Yes, Mr. Fraser, I believe I have.”

Claire called for the guards and watched Fraser being led away. An unaccustomed hollowness opened in her chest. For a long while, she sat in the interview room alone.

 

 

 

Jamie Fraser sat alone in his cell. He was kept in solitary for his own safety. He breathed deep; fighting to keep his emotions in check. He knew this was where he belonged; the proper punishment for his crimes and bear it he would.

But seeing the _sassenach_ had permitted self pity to flood his heart. She was glorious. Her fierceness had reminded him of his mother and sister. His heart squeezed at the thought of his family. He glanced to the small desk where his sister Jenny’s letters remained unopened. She had resorted to letters when he refused her calls.

_He deserved this_ , he thought, _he wouldn’t let them be destroyed because of his weaknesse_ s.

Jamie stood and circled his small cell.

Ah, how he wished to see the sky.

Suddenly, he wondered how the _sassenach_ ‘s hair would look in the sun? Was it lighter where the sun touched it? Would her whisky eyes go sherry in daylight?

Her husband was a lucky man.

Jamie closed his eyes and sat on his bed. Stubbornly, her image would not leave him.

She was haunted, he could tell. Did her husband try to comfort her? And how had she come to Boston?

His thoughts refused to be diverted. He had hoped for such a woman to be by his side. His father said it would be so. He had expected so many things; once.

Unable to control the bitterness that invaded his body, Jamie stood and punched the stone wall.

The pain blossomed through his arm.

Alone, in a cage, in a land that was not his own, it was then he understood all that was to be denied him.

He punched again and felt the bones shatter.

When only pain remained, he slid to the floor and cried.  


	5. Mens Rea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire faces the facts of her marriage. John Grey smells a rat and is blindsided.

Claire was startled awake. She felt Frank’s breath on her neck; his hand on her breast. Since learning of Frank’s most recent affair, she’d been sleeping on the sofa in her home office. Frank didn’t seem to mind. He kept late nights. But after her meeting with Fraser, the office was no longer comforting.

Claire wanted to leave, but Geillis, herself twice divorced, warned against rash action.

“Get yerself a good lawyer, get yer finances in order, find a place to stay where he can’t find ye, and get proof,”Geillis had instructed. She even suggested Claire hire a private investigator.

Ultimately, Claire had agreed to stay. She didn’t want Frank to have the upper hand; not ever again. She needed to prepare to leave him. But she’d been busy with work, busy with the Fraser case.

Now Claire could no longer wait.

“Don’t!” Claire spat as she pushed Frank’s hand away and got up from their bed.

“What’s gotten into you?” Frank asked as he sat up.

“I don’t like being awoken for sex.” _At least not by you_.

“Since when? I’ve been plenty patient, Claire.”

“Patient!? I’ve al..”  
  
“I’m trying to make this work!” Frank cut her off as though she had not spoken. “I’ve given you your space, haven’t I? I agreed to your therapy? Agreed not to ask for your help? Agreed to raise a child not my own? Is that it? You’ve decided adoption? And that’s it. It’s always your way, Claire. You can’t give me anything.”

“How dare you, you goddamn bloody bastard!” Claire’s voice shook with rage. Instinctively, her eyes searched for something to throw at him, finding nothing, her fists curled. “I’ve given up everything for you! I moved to a foreign country for you. I had to take extra classes and exams to become licensed to practice in America. I went to all your boring work functions and humored all your pretentious asshole colleagues!” She closed her eyes, her voice now under control, “it takes two people to make a child and sometimes those people can’t, it isn’t anyone’s fault.”

Frank walked toward their bathroom. He turned to face her. “Don’t play the victim, Claire. I didn’t force you to do any of that. Those are the things you should want to do if you love someone. And you barely did it. You couldn’t be quiet. So what if you had to listen to a few old timers? I needed those people for my work and you embarrassed me every time.”

“I’m not the meek and obedient type!” Claire shot back. “I’m sure Sandy and all the others are more than happy to be doormats for your success.”

“Sandy was there for me when you refused to be. I let her go for you. I asked you to try for a child of our own blood and you even half-assed that.” Frank shut the bathroom door.

Claire removed her wedding ring, got dressed and left.

***********************  
  
John Grey was trying not to vomit. He’d been pulling double duty; prepping the Fraser case and actively avoiding his family. The case wasn’t coming together as he’d liked and he felt the telltale sign of a tension headache beginning to form. He’d left his fifth floor office at the Boston Criminal Court Building to retrieve what he hoped would be the cure; caffeine. Once at the first floor cafeteria, Grey had to choose between the lesser of two evils; an espresso macchiato or a cortado. He knew the the barista couldn’t even manage a decent hot cocoa, but he was desperate. He grabbed the cortado and decided a five minute break would do him good. He took a sip and made to sit on one of the cafeteria’s hard plastic chairs.

 _Christ_! Grey thought as the offensively bitter and unbalanced liquid hit his palate. It was all he could do to keep it down. Then he noticed a dribble on his tie. He glared at the barista. He vaguely wondered if his family could begin a community outreach program to train baristas from underprivileged backgrounds. He immediately dismissed the idea as elitist bullshit. _And it would require him to speak to Hal._

Grey observed the mass of jurors, attorneys, and witnesses as they scrambled to make the afternoon court sessions. He sighed. John was feeling the pressure. James Fraser had been cleared for trial by Dr. Claire Beauchamp. Her report hadn’t been expected for at least another two weeks and the State’s case was nowhere near ready for a jury. John got a reprieve when Fraser’s next court appearance had been postponed 3 weeks. Fraser had broken several bones in his left hand and the case was delayed while he underwent surgery and started a rehab schedule.

Gray chalked that incident up to reality hitting Fraser square in the face. The State had filed murder charges and a special allegation for use of a knife in the commission of a felony. He was facing life in prison, with no chance at parole.

John’s boss, Harry, had authorized the charges after they were briefed by Detectives Christie and Cinnamon. John remembered Christie explaining that Fraser should “fry.” John’s face soured at the thought. John had a personal dislike of Christie. The man made too many off color comments and was frankly a neanderthal. He was rumored to have been forced to attend sensitivity training on more than one occasion, but he did present well on the stand. John wasn’t familiar with Christie’s new partner, Cinnamon, who was considerably younger. Cinnamon appeared to be around John’s age. He was fit, tall, sexy, and slightly brown- everything Christie wasn’t. John wondered if Cinnamon was part of Christies’ on-going sensitivity training.

John pushed Christie from his mind. He was more worried about his own skill. This would be the biggest case of career. But so far Harry had supported his choices, including Beauchamp for the eval.

“Good, Beauchamp’s good,” Harry had said. Not up for anyone’s bullshit, she’s got that fantastic ass and accent to match.”

Grey had stared at his boss.

“What!” cried Harry. “I’m not dead yet, and you know as well as I do that jurors are more likely to believe good looking people! Besides, that’s why I put you on this case.”

Grey hadn’t known whether to be flattered or offended.

John felt his phone vibrate, but ignored it. He thought of Frasers’s lawyer and felt a twinge just behind his left eye. Fraser was represented by one of the best public defenders in the State, Ned Gowan. But Gowan was a court appointed attorney. “I thought for sure he’d have some fancy uptown lawyer. He’s rich isn’t he?” Harry had asked.

“Yup, but he’s also smart. Ned’s the best homicide defense attorney in the state. I need to bring my A game.” John had countered. But it did give him pause.

Truthfully, there was something off about the entire case. There was no motive. John swirled the black sludge in his cup. Yes, Fraser was caught on CCTV arguing with Laoghaire MacKenzie a few days before her murder. The night of her murder, Fraser lured her to a bar where they were caught, yet again, arguing on CCTV. Fraser then forcibly moved Mackenzie to an alley behind the bar - an area not covered by video surveillance. Within minutes she was dead.

 _Yet, why_? Grey thought. The obvious answer being he was a spurned lover. Fraser stalked and killed her in a jealous rage. That was Christie’s position. _But lovers who never spoke?_ At least not according to their phone records. _A lover that none of Laoghaire’s coworkers, friends, and family knew she had_? A few weeks before her death, Laoghaire had called the police over loud music from a neighbor’s late night party. _Surely, this woman would have told someone she was being stalked_?

What the case needed was further investigation.

As John rose to return to his office, he spotted Ned Gowan. John’s phone vibrated again. He had two missed texts and a new one from his boss, Harry.

Gowan started toward John.

Quickly, John opened Harry’s message,  
  
**Where the hell are you? Browns here…..get back to the office.**

John looked up and saw Gowan had been waylaid by a crying elderly woman. _Probably the mother of one of his clients._

John glanced back down at the two missed texts:

**From Hal Grey  
We need 2 talk, be at Pardloe on Saturday**

**  
From Stephan von Namtzen  
I’m here. Jetlags a bitch. You call this beer?**

John stuffed the phone in his jacket pocket and greeted Gowan.

“Hello, Mr Gowan.”

Gowan extended his hand and laughed. “Please, call me Ned.” Grey was wary. He knew Gowan’s bumbling country lawyer routine was an act. He was ruthless at trial.

Gowan produced a document and handed it to Grey. “I was going to file this at the clerk’s office, but then I saw you, so here it is, hand delivered.” Gowan smiled as Grey read the document.

“You can’t be serious, you read Beauchamp’s report,” Grey stated.

“I did, but this is a separate issue – Fraser’s adding a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity. Of course he’s not guilty, but if he were guilty, he was insane at the time.” Gowan’s smiled faded. “What did you expect given your office’s change in position.”

“What?”John asked, his head beginning to pound.

“Your office is seeking the death penalty.”

 


	6. 1026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is it about James Fraser? Claire and John cross paths to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a zillion years, I know. But traveling & food poisoning...bad combo.

“Bloody hell!” Claire exclaimed as she sat in her downtown office. “Come in!” She yelled in response to the knock on her door. Dr. Joe Abernathy entered. He eyed her for a second and took a seat.

“You alright?” Joe asked.

“No, I just scorched my tongue on my tea.”

“And….”

“And I finished the Stephen Bonnet review, he’s a standard psychopath, not a sexual sadist.”

“And…..?” Joe inquired.

“And, why did you give me that case? It was completely straightforward from a review of the file. An intern could have made the call.”

“Because I felt you needed some straightforward busy work.” Joe leaned forward and grasped her hand. Claire squeezed back and slowly let the air out of her lungs. Other than Geillis, Joe was her best friend. Joe had taken a chance on her; given her a job when all her experience and references were an ocean away.

“I’m getting a divorce.”

“Where’s my invite?” Joe asked, releasing Claire’s hand and leaning back.

Claire looked at him, confused.

Joe smiled, “Geillis must be throwing you a party? Getting rid of that much dead weight is cause for celebrating.”

Claire’s mouth fell open.

“Will there be black pudding? Gail loves that stuff; ever since I took her to Scotland last year.”

Claire scoffed and glared at him. Joe’s face broke into a wide grin. Claire felt a wave a hilarity bubble up. She tried to choke it down, but soon she was wheezing and crying with laughter. Joe soon followed.

“I cannot believe you said that!” Claire sputtered, reaching for a tissue.

“Claire,” Joe said suddenly serious. “I love you like a sister, but it wasn’t my place. But know you deserve so much better.”

Claire felt her throat tighten and simply nodded.

“I’ll have those transferred to Yi Tien Cho’s office.” Joe was pointing to the boxes lining Claire’s office. The boxes labeled, FRASER, J.

“What? Why?” Claire felt that odd hollowness in her chest; she felt it every time she thought of James Fraser.

“The DA filed death and Fraser’s claiming insanity, he needs another eval.”

“I’ll do it.” Claire quickly stated.

“Lady Jane, you got a lot on your plate. You know how protracted death cases can be. And the time commit…..”

“Joe, I’m already familiar with the file and I’ve met him.”

Joe looked unconvinced.

“Please, Joe.” Claire tried to keep the pleading from her voice, “I have to do it. I feel I might have missed something the first time. I need to see it right.”

*****

Now back on the Fraser case, Claire felt better than she had in weeks. She’d been attributing her unease to the implosion of her marriage, but if she were being honest with herself, it had everything to do with Fraser. His case haunted her. His eyes. She’d been unsettled and confused after the eval. Then she was unsettled and confused about why she was unsettled and confused. It wasn’t her place to decide guilt or innocence. She knew people could commit heinous crimes without motive or warning.

 _Why_ _should_ _Fraser’s_ _case_ _be_ _any_ _different_?  
_But_ it was, _dammit_!

She’d been at this for years, she could sense darkness lurking in a person’s soul. James Fraser’s soul wasn’t dark. He didn’t make her feel afraid, he made her feel…well she didn’t know what she had felt, but she was done ignoring her gut.

Claire grabbed a hair tie, forcing her curls into a sloppy bun, and logged into the court’s docket. Fraser’s next court appearance was tomorrow and she would be there.

 ***************************

The Next Day

John Grey couldn’t decide on a suit. Today would be James Fraser’s first court appearance since his new plea and the death decision.

He’d been mad as hell when he found out about the change in charges. He’d raced back to his office after Gowan’s ambush to find the elected district attorney, Richard Brown, waiting for him. “We’re going death. The facts warrant it,” Brown had said.

 _Right_ …. Grey thought. This was pure politics. If Grey secured a death verdict against a wealthy white defendant, Brown would take all the glory. If Grey lost, he’d blame Grey’s incompetence and torpedo Grey’s political aspirations. _Well_ _played_

John sighed as he stood in front of his bathroom’s mirror. He didn’t know if the occasion called for a tie bar or not. His reverie was broken as Stephan von Namtzen appeared in his mirror. “What are you thinking about?” spoke the German accented voice.

John turned from the mirror where he was struggling with his tie. In the doorway, stood his on-again/off-again lover, Stephan von Namtzen. John and Stephan had met in Cologne, Germany during what Grey thought of as his lost years. The time when he had been exiled to Europe to avoid the near scandal that nearly tore his family apart. _Maybe_ _it_ _had_ _tore_ _his_ _family_ _apart_ , thought Grey.

“Just thinking of office politics,” replied Grey over his shoulder as he turned back to the mirror.

Stephan was in Boston on business. He worked in his family’s successful paper producing company. It wasn’t glamorous, Stephan always said, but it paid the bills and let him travel.

“So, is this it?” queried Stephan.

“Huh?”

“This case, the ‘Scottish Whisky killer’. Is this going to be your flipboard into politics? You’ll need to find a respectable American husband soon.”

Grey laughed out loud at that. “Please tell me he’s not being called ‘The Scottish Whisky Killer’? I’m taking it one day at time.”

“Right,” said Stephan, clearly not believing Grey.

Grey grabbed his briefcase and headed to the door. He kissed Stephan on the lips. “Lock up when you leave and text me when you arrive in London. Oh, it’s springboard, not flipboard.”

******

  
Grey arrived just as James Fraser was brought into court. Fraser’s left arm and hand were heavily bandaged. _Damn_ , _what_ _a_ _waste_ , thought Grey. Even shackled and dressed in prison garb, Fraser was undeniably attractive. The thought of a star going supernova had popped in Grey’s brain the first time he’d seen Fraser. If this case went to trial, John knew he’d have to keep the women and men off the jury who would be swayed by Fraser’s looks.

After exchanging pleasantries with Ned, Grey took his place at the podium. He flipped to Laoghaire MacKenzie’s photo, staring at her smiling face. He flipped again to her crime scene photo; Laoghaire covered in blood, her eyes open and lifeless. And lastly, he flipped to her autopsy photo; body cleaned with more than two dozen knife wounds to her neck, torso, and hands.

“What the hell? What happened to his arm!?” stated a female voice from behind him.

Before John could fully turn around, he was set upon by Dr. Claire Beauchamp. It took Grey a moment to place her. He’d met her a half a dozen times, but gone was her detached demeanor and crisp-as-autumn eyes. In its place was a woman possessed. Her curly hair barely contained and her eyes predatory and hawk like. She looked almost disheveled. Of course she wasn’t. He’d just never seen her so…..impassioned. She was actually quite lovely.

“Excuse me?” John carefully pulled his sleeve from her grasp.

“He was supposed to be in protective custody? How’d his arm get broken to shit?”

Grey gaped at her. He felt like a worm about be shredded.

“Are you listening, counselor? I’d assumed you were better than these games? Are you looking for a lawsuit?

Grey felt his wits return and he turned to face her. “He did it to himself after he saw _you_.”

He watched her blink. Her mouth opened and then closed. She seemed to want to look at Fraser, but didn’t. Grey pressed his advantage, “it was no doubt a ploy for his insanity defense.”

John watched as she pushed her curly hair from her face. Her face awash in conflicting emotions.

“I see. I…I apologize. I came to request all the latest information from your investigation. I’ve been assigned to do the eval.” John noticed her voice was tightly controlled and her jaw set.

Grey felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to stand. _Seems_ _he_ _wasn’t_ _the_ _only_ _one_ _trying_ _to_ _puzzle_ _out_ _the_ _Fraser_ _case_. _What_ _is_ _it_ _about_ _James_ _Fraser_? _He_ _needed_ _to_ _speak_ _to_ _the_ _detectives_ _immediately_.

  
“I’ll have them sent to your office.” John replied. “It makes sense for you to do the eval – judicial economy.

**************

 Jamie sat in a small cell in the courthouse. He hated going to court. It was pointless, but he needed to see it through. He held up his left hand to the dull fluorescent light. It was heavily bandaged and itched like the devil. _Ninety_ _percent_ _restoration_ _of_ _function_ _with_ _adherence_ _to_ _rehabilitation_ _regime_. That’s what the doctor’s had told him.

“Fraser, showtime,” said a guard through the bars.

Jamie was led to his seat in the courtroom. He saw Ned and John Grey. Grey seemed like a decent enough fellow. Maybe they could have been friends in a different life? He looked to his left and saw his sister, Jenny. _Damn_ _her_ , _what_ _is_ _she_ _doing_ _here_? He tried to ignore her. He looked again and almost laughed. She had a look of stubborn righteous fury on her face. He glared back. _I’ll_ _do_ _what_ _I_ _think_ _is_ _best_ , _Janet_.

Movement caught Jamie’s eye. A Dhia, it was the curly wig sassenach. She was storming toward Grey. They began to argue or rather the sassenach was giving Grey a very thorough dressing down. She was gesturing and pointing at Jamie. He strained to hear. Once she’d said her piece, she turned to sit in the audience. She looked at him then. He tried to fight it, but there it was once more; that odd familiarity, the pull to want to be free.


	7. Ex Post Facto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenny sheds light on Jamie’s past.

Claire tore from the courtroom. Her mind fuzzy. _What_ _was_ _she_ _doing_ _here_? _Had_ _she_ _just_ _argued_ _with_ _the_ _prosecutor_? _Why_ _had_ _Fraser_ _hurt_ _his_ _arm_?

Claire sat on a bench and closed her eyes. When she opened them, a small dark haired woman stood before her. The woman crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“How do ye know Jamie?” spoke the woman. Her question sounding like an accusation.

Claire remained silent.

“I saw him looking at ye. He…he obviously…. knows ye.”

 _Jamie_? _Did_ _she_ _mean_ _James_ _Fraser_ …. _he goes_ _by_ _Jamie_?…. A smile formed on Claire’s lips. _Jamie_ _suited_ _him_. She then felt a stab to her chest. _Was_ _this_ _Scottish_ _woman_ _one_ of _Fraser’s_    _lovers_ ? She instantly felt stupid for even caring. It wasn’t her concern. If this woman knew Fraser, she might be able to provide information useful for her evaluation.

Claire rose to her feet and extended her hand, “I’m Dr. Claire Beauchamp. I’m the court appointed psychiatrist on Mr. Fraser’s case. Are you a…friend of his from Scotland?”

The woman’s demeanor changed. She grasped Claire’s hand in a firm shake. “Janet Fraser Murray, I’m Mr. Fraser’s sister.”

Claire breathed deeply; she felt as though a twenty pound weight had been lifted from her chest. Now, she could see the resemblance. Something about the eyes. And she had seen Murray’s photo on the MacKenzie Whisky Ltd website. Janet Murray was a top executive in the company.

Claire directed Murray to the small café on the ground floor of the courthouse. “Yer English?” asked Murray.

“Yes, but I’ve been living in the US for a number of years,” replied Claire.

Murray’s gaze was as direct as her brother’s. “And you don’t know Jamie from….before?”

“No, I’m only the psych on the case.” Claire gave a weak smile as she felt sweat break out under her arms. She usually had that reaction when she tried to lie. _But_ _I’m_ _not_ _lying_!

“I came to bail him out, but he’s been denied bail because of yer ridiculous backward death punishment!” Murray scoffed. “I swear I’ll kill him myself when this is over.”

“Ms. Murr..”

“Call me Jenny. So if he were insane or blacked out, he’ll be released? How do we demonstrate that?”

We?.... It occurred to Claire that Jenny had no doubts of her brother’s innocence.

“Possibly… was Mr. Fraser’s relationship with the victim contentious?”  
Jenny sat back in her chair and smiled. “Mr. Fraser, is it?”

Claire felt heat rise to her face.

“Dinna worry, lasses always take to him.” Jenny waved her hand. “I’ve just never seen him look back.” Before Claire could respond, Jenny continued, “My brother had no relationship with Laoghaire, god rest her soul. He’d not seen her since she was a teen. She was an employee of MacKenzie Whisky’s PR division. I sent Laoghaire to New England to handle outreach to high end establishments. We’d been fighting off inroads made by Japanese whisky brands in the US. Laoghaire would make contacts at the appropriate bars and restaurants to ensure MacKenzie Whisky was represented.”

“I see. Do you know why Mr., um, your brother sought therapy?” Claire inquired.

Jenny’s face darkened. _Paydirt_ , thought Claire.

“That was my uncles’ mischief.” She crossed her arms, clearly uncomfortable sharing her family’s secrets.

Claire leaned forward, “his past mental health treatment will be critical in my evaluation.”

Jenny, with her eyes so like her brother’s, showed her first sign of vulnerability. “You’ve met my bràthair, but once?” Jenny studied Claire, shook her head and let out an exacerbated sigh, “he’s just like our Da.” Claire noticed her lapse into Gaelic. “Of course you’d find him now. At least yer not a lass.”

Claire had no idea what she meant by these statements.

“You’ll do right by him?” Jenny asked.

“Always.”  
  
Jenny steeled herself, “he witnessed our brother’s death.”

Claire’s brow furrowed. Their older brother, William, was very much alive and helping to run MacKenzie Whisky.

Seeing her confusion, Jenny explained, “My Grandda picked my Mam to run the business over my uncles, Dougal and Colum. Mam turned him down to be with my Da, live on a farm, and raise a family. It was great insult. The MacKenzies never forgave her or my Da. After Mam left, Grandda refused to relinquish control. He knew my uncles would run the company into the ground with their fighting and conflicting strategies.”

“But your mother came back?” Claire pressed.

“Aye, she came back and stopped Dougal. She convinced Grandda she was ready. She also came back with Jamie.”

“Jamie? He would have been a boy!”

Jenny looked at Claire dead on, “Jamie was born to lead the company. Everyone knew it. He’s got the MacKenzie fire and cunning mixed with Fraser honor and stubbornness.”

“Your mother was grooming him?” Claire deduced.

“Protecting him. She didn’t want my uncles, especially Dougal getting to him.”

Claire’s heart squeezed. To grow up in such an environment, not being able to trust your own family, to lose his main source of guidance in a viper’s nest.

“Mam was pregnant with her fourth child, our brother Robert. Jamie was with her in her office when Dougal arrived. There was a stramash. My mam ended up with a concussion and a late term miscarriage. Dougal said Mam started to bleed, fainted, and struck her head on the desk. Neither Mam nor Jamie remembered what happened.”

“Jamie didn’t remember? Was he injured?”Claire asked.

“No, he..he just couldna remember. My Da gave Dougal the benefit of the doubt, mainly because my Mam didna believe he would hurt her. Also, Mam’s breast cancer was discovered and well…we all focused on that.”

Jenny’s eyes held unshed tears. “Jamie wasna the same after. He was convinced he killed our parents. Killed Robert. Said Mam wouldna been at the company if it wasna for him. Our Da passed not longer after our Mam. A stroke. He always had high blood pressure, but Mam wasna around to make sure he took his meds and all the stress…..”

“But surely…..” Claire began

“Aye, he’s a Fraser! Stubborn! He does believe he’s responsible. Drove me mad! Refused to have anything to do with the company. Felt something would happen to me or Willie if he stayed. He did start the MacKenzie Foundation. His atonement, I suppose.” Jenny let out a mirthless laugh. “He’d call me in the middle of the night, not being able to sleep. Came home one year for Hogmanay and nearly killed himself on his motorcycle.”

“And Colum attributed this behavior to the repressed memory?” Claire guessed.

“Yes, Colum always believed Dougal pushed Mam. He saw it as his way to get Dougal out of the company. Jamie saw Colum’s offer of help for what it was, but I think he was so lost at the point he agreed to the therapy. Jenny smiled. “He’d be right put out if he knew I told ye all this.”

  
Jenny was silent for a moment then her head snapped up, her face anguished. “Do ye think it will save him? Could ye say he blacked out, can’t remember…like before?” Her words started to tumble out in a jumble. “ Ye know don’t ye, I can see it in yer face, ye know, you must know Jamie would never hurt anyone, let alone a woman.” She let her tears flow freely now. “He’s my baby brother. I’m supposed to keep him safe. I canna bear for him to be caged like an animal..or..or…I canna bear it, I say!” She pounded her fist on the table. “I’ll do anything, give ye anything, please help him. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a necessary information dump to get the plot where I want it to go. Next up Claire pays Jamie another visit.


	8. The Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire visits Jamie for the second time.

“Yer not welcome here. Ye can’t just show up!”

“It’s okay Geillis , I’ll speak to him,” Claire stated. Geillis had graciously allowed Claire to stay with her while she got furniture and internet established in her new apartment.

Claire grabbed her best friend’s shoulder. “We’re still on for drinks later?” God knew she would need it. Today was her meeting with Jamie and now an unexpected visit from Frank.

“Aye, I’ll meet ye there.” Geillis glared at Frank and shut her door.

Claire pushed past Frank. “I’m late for a meeting. I’ve nothing to say. You can speak to my lawyer.”

“Be reasonable, Claire. You can stay in our house. I can go elsewhere.”

“Oh, I bet you can.”

“I was faithful to you.”

“Always?” Claire dared him.

“You know I made mistakes. And I now know you can’t let them lie. I just don’t want you to suffer.”

“Goodbye Frank.”

*****  
Claire sat in the interview room of the jail waiting for Jamie. She tried to focus her thoughts. _Damn_ _Frank_. She’d wanted to be here earlier. James Fraser liked to be in control. He liked to solve his problems on his own terms. And he was stubborn. Claire needed him out of control and off kilter before he’d let her help him. _Oh_ , _and_ _she_ _was_ _going_ _to_ _help_ _him_ , _if_ _he_ _liked_ _it_ _or_ _not_. Even if she had to provoke and lie to him to do it.

She heard the guards. She sat up and forced her face to stone. In an odd déjà vu he sat across from her. He glanced up from her now bare ring finger, a question in his blue eyes. _No_! _Focus_ _Beauchamp_....

Abruptly she stood, walked around the table separating them, and grasped his left hand-his injured hand. He flinched. _Not_ _expecting_ _that_ _were_ _you_! His hand was secured to the table so he couldn’t pull away. She manipulated it at her leisure. He was warm to the touch. His whole body radiated heat. She pulled up the sleeve to examine his arm to the elbow. She noticed the blond to auburn to gold hair that covered his forearms. His tension gradually receded as she continued to examine him. He was strong, she could tell. The muscles of his forearm flexed and released as she moved the limb. She positioned herself to face him. Her right forearm flat against his upturned left one; his fingers naturally curling behind her elbow. She peeked under the bandage.

She didn’t dare look at him. She caught his smell. No, it wasn’t actually a smell. It was like an unconscious chemical reaction. She wanted to feel all of his skin pressed against her. She felt like a husk; hollow and achy. She held herself still; praying for the moment to pass, praying she could pull this off.

Jamie was surprised by the strength of her grip. He tried to focus away from her as she carefully inspected both his arms, but as close as she was he’d noticed her skin. It was flawless, like pearl. He saw the pulse in her neck. He wanted to touch her there. Place his thumb over it and then his tongue. He breathed in deep. She had an earthy herbal smell; sage maybe. He smiled. Perhaps she was a witch.

Her fingers ghosted over his wrist. _Where_ _was_ _her_ _ring_? _She_ _had_ _belonged_ _to_ _someone_. _Had_ _that_ _changed_? _Once_ _chosen_ _by_ _her_ , _how_ _could_ _any_ _man_ _let_ _her_ _go_?

Jamie looked at her curls as she was staring at his left arm. For once he was glad to be fettered. It prevented him from burying his good hand in her hair and freeing her curls. _Mo_ _nighean_ _donn_. His hand twitched to cup the base of her skull, to feel her hair free flowing over his hand, to bring his ear to mouth and hear the secret of her.

She broke contact and stared down him; her eyes whisky and storm. Her whole body felt cold at the loss of contact with him.

“Are you going to hurt yourself again?” Claire asked matter of factly.

“No,” he replied.

“That wasn’t smart, especially given it’s your dominant arm. I can tell because the muscles are slightly more developed in your left forearm than your right.” She’d placed her hands on her hips. “Have you been doing your rehab exercises? I am a medical doctor, those are critical to regain function.”

 _God_ , _she_ _was_ _scolding_ _him_. Her words went right to his cock. He winced and tried to find a comfortable position on the small chair.

“Aye, as instructed.”

His voice almost undid her. Something in his burr as he answered her. Primal and urgent. Her body recognized it and began to respond. She placed her hand to the back of her neck and forced her brain into gear.

 _You’re_ _attracted_ _to_ _him_ , _Beauchamp_.. _so_ _what_? Most _women_ _probably_ _are_ … _it_.. _it_ _doesn’t_ _mean_ _anything_.. _you_ _promised_ _his_ _sister_ _you’d_ _help_ _him_ … _you_ _promised_ _Joe_ _you_ _needed_ _to_ _fix_ _what_ _you_ _missed_.

Claire brought her hand from her neck and took her seat.

“Good, everything I said in our previous eval still stands, but this time we’re going to talk about the actual facts of the case. Even if you confess to the crime, it can’t be used against you in determining guilt or innocence, only your sanity at the time. Do you understand?”

Jamie hesitated. There was something off about her manner. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good, Jamie, lets begin.”

His eyes narrowed at the use of his nickname, but before he could think on this she slammed a huge binder onto the table.

She pulled out an autopsy photo of Laoghaire MacKenzie and placed it directly before him. She noticed he looked at it for a fraction of a second before immediately looking above her head at the wall behind her. She pulled out a second photo from the crime scene and placed it right next to the other. He wouldn’t even glance down. Good..

“I think you should look at those so we can talk about what happened in that alley.”

He looked at her; his eyes turning a blue as cold and crisp as water in a glacial pond.

 _Keep_ _going_ _Beauchamp_ …

“You know what’s interesting? You’re left handed. The autopsy report indicates Laoghaire was killed by a right-handed attacker. Someone tall, but not quite as tall as you.”

Jamie’s finger began to tap the table.

“Also, she had skin and blood under her nails. I mean, I’d fight for my life if I’d been her.” Claire pointed to the photos.

“DNA isn’t back yet, but the blood under her nails doesn’t match your blood type. She also had blood in some of her wounds. It’s not uncommon in brutal knife attacks for the attacker’s hand to actually slip past the hilt onto the blade during the stabbing, thus depositing their blood onto the victim. That blood isn’t your type either and you didn’t have a scratch on you.”

Two of his fingers tapped the table. He pushed the the photos away as best he could while shackled “Yer lying, Ned woulda told me this.”

 _She_ _was_ _lying_. Laoghaire MacKenzie hadn’t the chance to defend herself, there was no foreign blood in her wounds and given the nature of the attack there was no way to tell the attacker’s dominant hand.

 _Please_ , _please_ _let_ _him_ _not_ _see_ _through_ _me_.

“I don’t need to lie, Jamie. I told you, I’m a medical doctor. I pulled some strings at the medical examiners office to see the report before it’s finalized. Ned hasn’t seen it. I wasn’t going to come here without all of the information I could gather.”

Claire allowed that to sit for a moment.

For the first time, Jamie looked unsure of himself. Claire fought the urge to caress his hands.

 _Don’t_ _let_ _him_ _regroup_ ….

“Have you ever blacked out before?” Claire asked

“No.” Jamie tried to recover his equilibrium.  
.  
“You’re sure? You’ve never not remembered something?

“I said, no.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

Jamie bucked against his restraints and tried to stand. He couldn’t and Claire rose instead. She’d forced him to impotence and it turned her insides to do it.

“I didna hafta talk to ye!” he roared.

“I’m not afraid of you!” Claire shouted back.

 _God_ _he_ _was_ _stubborn_!

Claire stood over him and spoke calmly, “No, you don’t. Then, I won’t be able to render an opinion and you’ll be presumed sane like all criminal defendants. You can have your trial, be found guilty and likely be executed. You’ll leave your family in tatters and the person who killed Loaghaire and her unborn child will go free.”

His face snapped to hers. This was one thing she didn’t need to lie about. She’d found out in the new documents Grey had provided. Laoghaire MacKenzie was a few weeks pregnant.

“She was with child?” Jamie searched her face for confirmation.

“Yes, early still. She might not have known. They’ll say you murdered the mother of your child.”

“I wouldna….”

Claire leaned down. “You wouldn’t what? What wouldn’t you do?

He looked down at the photos. His jaw set. Claire felt as though he were tearing her guts out. She moved her chair to sit and face his right side. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Please Jamie. Please let someone help you. You’ve Ned and Jenny and William. All your nieces and nephews. Friends. Claire cleared her throat. And..and you’ve got me, I’ll help.” He sat motionless, eyes closed. Claire moved closer and he made no move to pull away. “What happened the night Laoghaire was killed?” She implored. His eyes opened, but he didn’t respond. “Did..did you love her? Was the baby yours?” Claire continued. He turned to face her, eyes glassy. “No, we werena together.” His reply was so soft she could barely hear. “But it was my fault,” he added and turned to look straight ahead once again.

“Jamie, that isn’t possible. I know it wasn’t your fault. I _know_ it.”

He didn’t look at her, but slowly he upturned his right hand on the table. Before she could think to stop herself, Claire slid her hand in his. He closed his fingers around hers. She was struck by the rightness of it.

 They didn’t speak. Their breathing began to synchronize. She’d been wrong, she wasn’t merely attracted to him. She couldn’t understand it, but this wasn’t usual. It was the most powerful thing she’d ever felt.

She brought her other hand to the table to cocoon his good hand with both of hers. He moved his fingers as he tried to feel both her hands. She saw the fingers of his left hand strain against their bandages to try to reach hers. “Did you blackout? Is that why you think it’s your fault?” Claire tried again.

He faced her then. His eyes swept across her face. “Claire…,” he spoke her name, the first time he’d done so. It was no more than a whisper. She squeezed his hand in encouragement.

 _Clunk_!

They both jumped at the sound. It was a metal waist chain striking a cell door. The guards were coming to collect him. He withdrew his hand. Claire scrambled to move her chair back in position.  
  
“Shift change. Are you almost done?” said a guard through the now open door.

Jamie looked at her and said something in Gaelic. He then faced the guard, “aye, we’re done.”

Claire moved forward. She struggled to catch his eye as they moved him to the door. He managed to turn toward her, “Goodbye Claire.” He looked back at the guard, “I dinna want to see her again or anyone else.”

**********

“Christ, Claire! Was it Frank? I’ll get my coven on him!” Geillis slid her old fashioned to Claire as she sat. Her eyes puffy and swollen from crying.

“No, I …I just had a very bad day at work. I tried to help and I might have made it worse.” Claire downed the drink and looked for the server to ask for another. “God,no.”

“What?” Geillis asked, looking in the direction of Claire’s stare. She was looking at a woman who’d just entered the bar. The woman seemed to recognize Claire and approached their table.

“Are you Dr. Claire Beauchamp?” the woman asked.

Claire stood, her knuckles gone white on the empty old fashioned glass. Geillis hadn’t been in a bar brawl since leaving Edinburgh, but she’d do it for Claire. Geillis stood as well.

“Is he staying with you? How was the symposium?” Claire slurred. “Did the very distinguished Dr. Frank Randall make a splash?”

Phaedre Cameron stared at the two women. The short ginger looked as though she kept a Ouija board in her car. Beauchamp’s hair brought Medusa to mind and she looked as though someone had pissed in her cornflakes and stole her dog.

“Um, you mean the Scottish Jacobite expert? I’ve no clue where his hotel is located. I don’t follow his work.”

Geillis grabbed the glass from Claire’s hand. “Dr Beauchamp is off duty, maybe you can stop by her office tomorrow.”

“I tried that. I’m here about Jamie Fraser.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has been following on AO3 & tumblr. It’s much appreciated!!! Next, Claire and Phaedre work together off stage and we catch up with John Grey.


	9. Transactional Immunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John confronts the past to move forward; Jamie looks to the future.

She laughed and swatted his hands away. Jamie reached out again. This time she came to him; her musk filing his lungs. She smiled a secret smile, her hair curling around her face. He lay back as she lowered herself onto him. Her movements slow and rhythmic. He grabbed her hips and made to match her pace, but she quickly pushed him down by his shoulders. “Stay still,” she commanded. Her voice breathy and yearning. He let his body go slack as she took what she needed. Slowly, she leaned down to kiss him. Her nipples grazing his chest. Unable to resist, Jamie brought his right arm around her back; securing her to him as she continued to move. His left hand reached over her hip and around her arse to their joining. She bit the side of his jaw. He felt her slick and warm as she pressed her forehead to his and spoke, “I’ll never leave you.”

Jamie awoke to the force of his release. The cell was dark, save the small flicker of a florescent light shining through the bars. His breathing was labored and his heart felt fit to burst. He curled on his side, wishing for a warmth and a smell that wasn’t there. He closed his eyes. It was the first time Claire had come to his dreams. _Served him right. What had he been thinking?_  He’d allowed her to touch him; invited it even. _And_ she had responded. A small terror reached his heart. _What_   _if it was an_ _act_ , _some_ _psychological_ _mind_ _game_ _for_  for the eval? Could she be safely asleep in the arms of her husband? A part of him wished it so. _No_. He wiped his hand across his face. There was a truth to her; what was between them was real. And he knew she wouldn’t let him be. She’d lose her job and worst trying to help him. He knew she would because he’d do no less.

Jamie reached for the rosary Jenny had mailed to him. There was one person who might help him, but how he could he ask? What of Laoghaire and her baby? Should no one be punished for their deaths so he could pursue a married woman he barely knew? Could he risk Jenny and Willie to be with Claire? Would Claire even want him?

But, God had sent Claire to him. _Why else if not to be with her?_ Claire belonged with him. He knew it when she took his hand. He was here so she could find him; it was the only way he could make sense of it. He had to trust she was his redemption and he must protect her.

Jamie rose from the small cot. He decided he must fight for his family, fight for Claire, fight for his life.

*************  
“Fraser’s claiming insanity. He has no history of violence and barely knew the victim. Seems to me something an insane person would do,” Grey argued as he looked directly at Det. Tom Christie.

Fresh from the gym, John Grey was spending his Saturday in the DA’s office working on the Fraser case. He’d ordered the Detectives to his office. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

“A beautiful young woman is motive enough. Most men understand that.” Christie retorted.

John leveled an eye, but before he could respond to Christie’s inanity, his phone buzzed.

 **From Hal Grey**    
**Sending car at 5**

_Hal was heavy handed, but this was ridiculous! Does he think I can’t get to Pardloe Estate on my own?_

“…..don’t need to prove motive,” Christie was saying.

“Yes, but if you’re asking a jury to execute someone, evidence of evil intent would help,” Detective John Cinnamon smoothly added.

_At least someone with a functioning brain....._

“She was pregnant, he didn’t want to be stuck for 18 years supporting a gold digger’s spawn.” Christie responded. He smiled smugly and continued, “if Fraser were innocent, he would have identified the attacker, he would have given a statement instead of walking back into the bar, covered in the victim’s blood, murder weapon in hand.”

Grey put down his double shot Americano, “that’s a nice bit of speculative fiction, but you’ve uncovered no evidence that MacKenzie knew she was pregnant or told Fraser that she was. And because there’s no video surveillance showing the other entrances to the alley, all we have is a lot of loose ends. Loose ends equal reasonable doubt.”

Christie bristled.

“Well, we’ve got more info on the murder weapon and Fraser’s movements before the murder,” Cinnamon stated, swiftly diffusing the tension in the room. He handed Grey a stack of papers. The top was a photo of the knife used to kill Laoghaire MacKenzie. “It’s a Scottish dagger called a sgian dubh. And,” Cinnamon pointed, “it’s a replica of one stolen from the National Museum of Scotland a little over a year ago.”

“Oh?” Grey’s interest piqued.

“I had it sent to Harvard.” Cinnamon was thumbing through a small notebook until he came across the right information. “Yeah, a Dr. Frank Randall. He’s the resident Scottish expert. He identified it as a good likeness of daggers used in early to mid 18th century Scottish highlands. Even though it’s a replica, Randall said it’s worth several thousand dollars.”

Christie sniggered. “Yeah, because random Boston dirtbags carry fake medieval European daggers. It clearly belongs to rich boy Fraser.”

“Well medieval is a different period, but it does point to Fraser,” Cinnamon nodded.

Grey examined the photo. “What’s this?” Grey motioned to carved lettering on the hilt of the dagger.

“That indicates the clan.” Cinnamon was reading from his notes. “Society in the Scottish highlands was organized around clans. Think the Houses from Game of Thrones. This dagger is from Clan Grant. That’s the Grant motto in Latin.”

Grey continued looking at the photo. “Could this be a type of honor killing?”

Grey knew quite well the cost of family honor.

“Dead-end. Fraser and the Vic have historical ties to Clan Grant, but so does half the Scottish diaspora. Dr. Randall didn’t believe there was a cultural basis for the murder.”

“Hmmm,” Grey sighed. He felt he was going in circles. “And Fraser’s movements?”

Grey looked to Cinnamon, but Christie replied. “He arrived in the U.S. three weeks before the killing. Flew into D.C. and spent time in North Carolina before catching a flight to Boston.”

Christie held up his hands, anticipating Grey’s next question. “We don’t know what he did there or why he went. Victim has no ties to the south.”

**********************  
John was greeted by the smell of old leather and even older books as he walked into the library at Pardloe estate. It was unchanged since his father’s death. His sister-in-law, Minnie, entered handing him a glass of single malt scotch. “I thought you might like a drink.”

“Thanks,” John smiled at her. Minnie always bridged the gap between John and his brother Hal.

“I bought that, special for you. It’s MacKenzie Whisky. It’s quite good.” She winked at him.

John sputtered, “I’ll be sure to pass your praise to James Fraser.” He shook his head and took a sip. It was good.

“I hope the trial is televized, Fraser is a stone fox. Does he have a sexy accent?”

“Good God Minnie, the man is accused of killing a helpless woman!”

“Well, you think he’s innocent.” She smirked as she took a sip from her own glass. “Is that your plan? To exonerate him in some spectacular fashion. Take all the credit for righting a miscarriage of justice and crushing Brown in the process. It’s a good plan to prove your mettle to the public and the party.”

John gaped at her. Minnie worked in PR crisis management. She had been invaluable to Hal when he served as a US senator.

“Oh, come off it, John. You used the word ‘accused’ and described a woman as ‘helpless’. You know there’s no such thing.”

John began to respond as Hal entered the library. Minnie walked to Hal, placing a a hand to his chest and whispered something to him that John couldn’t hear. She turned to exit the library and yelled over her shoulder, “be sure to find the true killer before letting him off.” She quietly shut the door behind her.

  
“You should’ve told me my daughter was about to marry Che Guevara,” Hal began without preamble.

“That’s a tad harsh. Denzell is a good man, if a bit naïve. And I’m under no obligation to inform you of information given to me in confidence.”

“No obligation! You have every obligation when it concerns this family! Dottie has a chance to be someone. To do something. All you care about is doing what you want, while others are left dealing with the consequences.”

John thought of Hal’s words from the 4th

_You’ve learned nothing, out father died knowing our sacrafice was wasted on you._

John turned from Hal. Memories long buried came to the fore. He could almost smell Hector’s cologne. While John was a junior at Yale, he fell hard and fast for Hector, a first year. It was a reckless, all encompassing first love. Hal was serving as the junior senator from Massachusetts. He and Minnie warned him to be cautious. Not everyone accepted John’s nature and their father didn’t know. But John felt the invincibility of youth and privilege and did as he wanted.

That was until his father, the former governor, received an envelope. The Grey’s were blackmailed by Hal’s main political rival with the accusation that John had sex with Hector when he was a minor. While not true, hush money was paid and Hal was forced to withdraw from politics as part of the deal.

John was sent to Europe to finish his studies. He never knew the specifics, but John was led to believe Hector had set him up. Upon his return to America, Minnie assured him those involved has been ‘dealt with’. Outwardly, Hal and his parents forgave him, but their disappointment was right below the surface. John felt it was his responsibility to continue what Hal could not.

“Hal, I’m sorry. I know what I cost you. I know you don’t believe me, but I live everyday trying to make it right. But I can’t do that under your thumb. I can’t let you control me if I’m to honor our father and your sacrifice. I must do what’s right and destroying your daughter’s happiness is not right.”

John left the estate without another word.

***************  
On the drive back to Boston, John’s thoughts drifted to Fraser. If Fraser were innocent and wasn’t insane, what would explain his subsequent actions? What would induce a man with everything to sacrifice his life? John’s phone buzzed.

**Hal**  
**I forgive you. I’m proud of you brother.**

John felt a relief he didn’t know he needed.

Then the answer came to him easily. Family. The protection of it. That could be Fraser’s only motive. But John had a job to do; find Laoghaire MacKenzie’s killer or killers and he was betting Fraser would lead him to them. Decision made, tomorrow, John would grant James Fraser pre trial release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up. Can Jamie keep Claire away from his plans...


	10. Sandbag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phaedre and Claire need John’s help.

“Are you sure this is a good idea…he’s the prosecutor!?” Phaedre whisper screamed in Claire’s ear as they entered the Boston criminal courts building.

“We’ve got to find Jamie. His defense lawyer won’t risk us screwing up the case,” Claire replied, directing them to first floor café. “Grey released Jamie without prior authorization. I’m sure of it. I’ve been around long enough to know that protocol wasn’t followed. He’s hoping Jamie will lead him to accomplices. He’ll have people watching him.”

Phaedre nodded in acquiescence. She’d just have to trust this Beauchamp woman. Claire was taking a hell of a risk helping Jamie and she seemed to care for him a great deal. 

Once Phaedre had explained her connection to Jamie, Claire had offered her a place to stay, which happened to be Geillis’ home. Geillis had an entire shelf on her guest room bookcase dedicated to Jamaican and Haitian voodoo. Phaedre would definitely need to ask her about that later. 

Phaedre looked at Claire as they sat in the café. She was definitely pretty, but in a sort of untamed, ethereal way. No wonder her best friend was a witch. But she couldn’t say whether Claire was Jamie’s type. Phaedre had been around Jamie often enough to know he attracted the eye of many women. He was always polite, but he was looking for something or someone else. And there was the issue of Beauchamp being married to Frank Randall. Ugh, thinking of that man was like smelling rotten milk. Yet, Jamie must feel something for Claire. While Phaedre had been unpacking her things at Geillis’, Claire shyly entered the room.

“So..do you speak any Gaelic…I mean for your research?” Claire had asked. 

“Speak, no. But I’ve gotten to understand a few things.” 

“I see.” Claire had tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Well, Geillis doesn’t know any Gaelic and google translate is useless because of the phonetics of that bloody language.”

“What is it you want to know?” Phaedre had been tired and the way Beauchamp had been hemming and hawing was akin to waiting for water to boil.

“Well… do you know what ‘mo cree’ or ‘mo rye’ means?”

“Mo chridhe. Mo ghraidh. My heart. My love.”

“Oh.” Whatever Beauchamp had been expecting it wasn’t that. She’d started to glow and the stupidest smile had formed on her face. She’d left the room as though Phaedre had given her the Holy Grail. 

Clearly, Jamie had spoken those words to her, not something he would have done lightly.

Yes, Phaedre would follow Claire’s lead.

****************  
“What the fuck were you thinking! Releasing Fraser from custody!?” Harry Quarry screamed at Grey.

“I didn’t release him, he posted bail,” Grey replied. 

Harry was red faced, with a vein protruding from his forehead. John worried his boss would have a coronary right on the spot. Harry walked around his desk to glower over Grey.

“Don’t! You know damn well capital defendants can’t get bail. You dismissed the death penalty allegation!” 

“Harry, this is the best way to catch..”

“We have the killer! You know Grey, I stood up for you when everybody thought you were a spoiled blue blood who bought his way through life. I recommended you for homicide when everyone thought you needed more experience. It’s nice that you can blow up your career, go yachting for six months and get another job, but this job is my life’s work and my family needs my pension!” Harry sat back behind his desk, turning his attention to a stack a files. “I’ve already spoken to Brown. You’ll stay on the Fraser case. The optics of removing you now would make the office look even worse, but once this case is over you’ll be lucky to prosecute a speeding ticket. Leave.” Harry didn’t look up.

Grey went to the downstairs café, wishing he had some MacKenzie Whisky to add to his coffee. If he was wrong about Fraser, he’d hunt the man down and flip the switch himself. 

“Hullo.” Suddenly Dr. Claire Beauchamp was sitting across from him. She looked more poised than the last time he saw her, but she was clearly up to something. “I need the location of James Fraser…for the eval.” 

Grey sipped his coffee. She would make a terrible spy, no finesse. 

Claire continued, “I need a follow up exam. I don’t want to miss the court deadline.” She smiled pleasantly. “I’m sure he provided an address as a condition of pre trial release…maybe even agreed to an electronic gps device?”

“Yes, and he surrendered his passport, but surely you know how…irregular it would be to release the defendant’s address to the court appointed psychiatrist. Contact Ned. He can arrange a meeting or my office can coordinate the interview at police headquarters.”

“I understand it’s unusual, but there are extenuating circumstances,” Claire pressed.

“Which would be……?”

Beauchamp looked as though she intended to grab his coffee and throw it in his face. Grey moved his coffee out of her reach. He was more than willing to wait her out.

“The circumstance of his innocence,” Claire hissed. 

“If you had any such evidence, you’d have told Ned or the police. This is clearly personal for you.”

“And if you thought he were guilty, he wouldn’t be out on bail.”

Touché 

“Do you know that woman?” Grey pointed his chin at a woman a few tables over. She was eavesdropping while pretending to read a kindle. 

Claire groaned and waived the woman over. “This is Dr. Phaedre Cameron, Jamie’s cousin. She’s…helping me.”

Grey ignored her use of a nickname for Fraser and watched as this woman joined their table. “Hello, pleased to meet you,” Phaedre extended her hand. Grey shook it as he looked from Beauchamp back to this Dr. Cameron. 

The woman was clearly an American and not from Boston.

Sensing Grey’s confusion, Phaedre explained, “distant cousin, on his paternal side. We have an 18th century ancestor in common, Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, The Old Fox.”

Grey blinked. He definitely needed something stronger than coffee.

“Lovat was executed by the English,” Phaedre added triumphant. “Did you know Scottish people came en mass to colonial America; some were indentured servants and some were involved in the trans Atlantic slave trade and….”

Claire lightly put her hand on Phaedre’s arm. She knew all to well the signs of a historian about go on a very long and very convoluted explanation of historical events. 

“Oh, sorry,” Phaedre looked sheepish. 

Grey cleared his throat, “Well it’s good Fraser has…. maintained contact with his American relations…..are you a doctor of psychiatry also?”

“Goodness, no. History. I’m a professor at UNC, Chapel Hill. 

Grey sat forward. “North Carolina! That’s what Fraser was doing down there. Visiting you.”

Cameron’s face went blank. She had a far better poker face than Beauchamp. She looked to Beauchamp, “this will help Jamie, yes?”

Claire looked to Grey, “I don’t know. Can we trust you? To help find the true killer?” Her face was earnest and open. 

Grey looked at the two women. Both highly educated, both convinced of Fraser’s innocence and willing to help him at great cost. Grey, himself was in a similar situation. He’d be ruined if releasing Fraser turned up nothing. Grey sighed. What was it about damned James Fraser. 

“Yes, yes, you can trust me, but I want to know everything! What was Fraser doing in North Carolina and how do you really know him?”

Beauchamp nodded to Cameron. Cameron began, “what I said was true; Jamie and I are distantly related. My historical focus is the culture of enslaved Africans living in islands along the southern Atlantic seaboard in Colonial to antebellum America. These people developed a distinct culture and language; a language that is dying. I knew of programs to revive and protect languages— like with the Maori language in New Zealand and Gaelic in Scotland. I discovered MacKenzie Whisky was a huge sponsor of the program in Scotland. I reached out a few years back and Jamie responded. We became friends. He educated me on Scottish history and it was really interesting. I found great overlap and contact between Scots and putative African Americans. I researched some of my own history and found the common ancestor.”

“I see, so he came for a visit?” Grey asked.

“He called me about two months before the murder. He wanted to know if I could put him contact with experts who could keep quiet.”

“Experts?”

“Historical experts; archeologists, anthropologists, antiquities specialists, renaissance art dealers, indigenous peoples researchers. I didn’t think much of it.” Phaedre shrugged. “I figured it was for his Foundation. “Said he would fly to North Carolina to discuss it.”

Phaedre stopped abruptly and looked at Claire, “he really is special, tries to help those he can.” Claire’s blush was not unnoticed.

“Anyway,” Phaedre continued, “he brought this.” She handed Grey a stack of photos of artifacts and copies of documents. “Those are historical items of note; spanning centuries, across multiple cultures and all stolen. Jamie asked me to authenticate some pertaining to Colonial America and get the right experts for the rest.”

“Jesus,” Grey flipped through the pages. There was also references to purchases of conflict diamonds from Africa, emeralds from Colombia, rhino horns, items looted from the unrest in the Middle East. 

“These items are all in possession of Mackenzie Whisky. Amassed over the last two years, and easily traceable to Janet Murray & William Fraser, Jamie’s siblings”, Claire added.

John sat back in his chair. “A set up.”

Both women nodded. Grey knew if this information got out Fraser’s siblings would be jailed and the company would be ruined. This was a PR disaster in every market where Mackenzie Whisky was sold. This is what Minnie would call a scorched Earth attack.

“Jamie said he knew the liaison who was procuring the items on behalf of the company. He was flying to Boston to meet her. It must have been Laoghaire.” Phaedre stated. “Once he was arrested, I didn’t know what to do.” She looked between Claire and John, “He wouldn’t return my calls. I didn’t want to go to the police or his lawyer for fear of everything going pubic….I thought maybe with doctor – client privilege…I… I…” Claire grabbed Phaedre’s hand.

“We’ll fix it, we’ll find him and figure it out,” Claire continued to squeeze Phaedre’s hand and looked at Grey.

Grey, while sympathetic, was extremely skeptical of Beauchamp being able to help Fraser.

“He’ll already have a plan,” Phaedre offered, wiping at the corner of her eyes. “We’ve just got to convince him we can help. He’s got a reason to live now.” She smiled at Claire.

********  
Claire fiddled with her hair and wiped her hands on her jeans for the third time as she rode the elevator to the 7th floor of the luxury apartment building where Jamie was staying. What if he refuses to see her? What if he sent her away? Before she could lose her nerve, Claire exited the elevator, walked to his door and knocked. 

Nothing. 

She knocked again.

When she thought she could no longer bear it, she heard Jamie’s voice through the door, “Ach, took ye long enough! Where’d ye go, Memphis?!”

The door swung open and she instinctively stepped back. Her mouth fell open. Jamie stood before her. He was wet and naked, save a gps ankle monitor and an entirely too small hand towel he was grasping around his waist. 

He stared, but said nothing.

Claire moved forward. 

“Sorry, it’s just me, Claire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Jamie and Claire for real next time.


	11. Reciprocal Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Claire convince Jamie they’re better together than apart.

“Jamie?” Claire wasn’t sure he heard her. She stepped closer still. His skin was splotchy from the heat of his shower. She tried not to ogle him, but he stood stock-still and _by_ _god_ he was finely made. Her eyes swept over the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Her gaze started to wander to his stomach, but she forced her eyes back to his face. She noticed he hadn’t shaved in a few days. She liked the scruff.

She smiled shyly, never having stood next to him, he was bigger than she thought. Feeling the heat from his body, she tried again, “Were you expecting someone? Can I come in?”

His blue eyes traced her face, but still he said nothing. She moved to enter and he suddenly blocked her path.

“Christ! Yer real?! What in God’s name are ye doing here?”

“I’ve come to help.” Claire felt giddy just to be near him.

“No! Ye can’t be here. God, woman! Ye can’t just be sneaking about in the middle of the night! It’s no safe! What about yer reputation?!”

Claire felt her hackles rise. “It’s seven pm! I can take care of myself! My reputation?! What?!” She raised her arms in exasperation.

“Yer the doctor on my case, are ye no? What if someone saw ye coming here!?”

Jamie forgot his lack of clothes. He moved to run his fingers through his hair with his left hand. The hard cast had been removed, but when pain prevented the motion, he switched to grasp the towel with the left and moved his right hand up. The action caused him to almost drop the towel entirely.

Claire kept her eyes solidly on his face as she felt heat rise in her own. A small smile formed on her face as her irritation began to cool. Jamie tried to glare at her, but his eyes softened. She’d noticed his ears had gone pink.

“Maybe we can have this conversation inside? I…” Claire began.

“What are ye doing outside?” Said a male voice coming from the direction of the elevator.

The man was carrying a large amount of take out food boxes.

“Where are yer clothes and who the hell is this?”

Claire looked at the man, obviously a Scot. He was around her height with a full beard and bushy eyebrows.

“I’m Claire.”

“Oh!” His scowl disappeared and was replaced by a knowing grin. “Please come in.”

The man winked as he pushed past Jamie. Claire followed him in.

Jamie groaned.

“Jamie, lad, for Christ’s sakes, go get dressed.” The man motioned in the direction of what Claire guessed was a bedroom.

Jamie reluctantly left while attempting to cover his arse with the towel and maintain his dignity.

“I’m Murtagh, Jamie’s godfather,” said the man as he placed the boxes on the kitchen island. “I need to thank ye for convincing Jamie to get his head out of his arse.”

Claire felt relief, “I just want to help. I …”

“Are ye sure?”

“Why yes, of course.” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“Because Jamie needs to be focused. He needs someone dependable.”

“I can assure you, I’m…”

“Yer marrit aren’t you?” Murtagh casually pulled out a piece of BBQ from one of the boxes and began to eat. “Lasses can become…infatuated with the lad. Maybe ye should go back to yer husband? Jamie’s a soft heart. We’ve got to get his affairs in order and I’ll no see him distracted or taken advantage of.”

Claire felt her fists bunch. “I’ll have you know, Mr….Mr….”

“Fitzgibbons,” Murtagh added helpfully.

“Mr. Fitzgibbons, I’m not some school girl with a crush. My marital status is none of your business. I’m not going anywhere. Ever! I’ve risked my career and those of others to come here. Jamie’s fighting for his life against the full force of the law and God knows what else. I know the system and can help. _You_ don’t even know _not_ to get BBQ in Boston!”

Claire looked over and saw Jamie staring at her, his expression unreadable. He slowly walked into the kitchen.

Murtagh threw a bone in the trash. “She’ll do.” He walked toward the door. He turned and looked directly at Claire’s arse, “Don’t let her eat all the food. I’m going to get a cream pie. _That_ much I do know.”

Jamie wanted to protest, but his godfather was already gone.

  
Claire turned to face him. _God_ , _she_ _was_ _lovely_. Her hair was loosely tied back. He’d never seen her in casual clothes. He imagined this is how’d she look if they spent their weekends together. He tore his eyes from her. The shock of her appearance was slowly giving way to his gnawing need of her. But he knew it to be a selfish need. He wanted her thoughts, her counsel, her body, her praise, her love. _But_ _what_ _could_ _he_ _give_ _her_? Nothing. Nothing at all. Not yet anyway. Yet he hadn’t realized his soul would call her to him. He had to send her away. He had to. No matter how fiercely she spoke of helping him.

Lost in his thoughts, she’d stepped closer, forcing him to look at her. He hadn’t thought her so small. He noticed a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her full lips parted just a bit and then closed as the sides tugged up in a small smile. She stepped back a bit and Jamie felt his feet moving to follow. He stopped when she unzipped the lightweight jacket she was wearing. She pulled it from her shoulders to reveal a fitted v neck merino wool sweater.

She was completely covered, but it accentuated her breasts – full and round. His mouth went dry. _Did_ _she_ _like_ _her_ _nipples_ _pinched_ _and_ _bitten_ _or_ _licked_ _and_ _caressed_. He looked his fill and she didn’t seem to mind. Frankly, he preferred to think of her nipples, if he thought of her arse he’d lose himself on the spot.

Claire noticed his fingers tapping his thigh. _So_ _far_ _so_ _good_. He hadn’t kicked her out. She moved closer once again. He smelled of soap, but it couldn’t mask his own masculine smell. His hair was damp and curled just a bit at the nape. She thought of her hands there. Her hands directing his mouth at her whim. His pupils were almost fully dilated. She bit her bottom lip at the sight. She heard him groan. Claire realized if they kept this up, she’d end up on the floor with her legs spread wide for him. And she wouldn’t mind. Not one bit.

So that’s it, then? You were going to leave and I’d never see you again?” Claire tried to keep her voice level.

“What?”

“Your godfather said you were getting your affairs in order. You’re going to skip bail, flee?” Claire started to worry the bottom of her sweater.

“Och, no!” Jamie moved closer still. “And have the US government after me? To live as an outlaw? I could never go home or see my family or….” He looked into her eyes.

Claire swallowed. There it was. How many people had Claire met in her life. Thousands? Tens of thousands? But Jamie…Jamie was the only one who made her feel this…a connection to the very core of her being. She knew him without knowing. He’d been there all her life. The small voice supporting her, encouraging, the gut feeling when things weren’t right – like settling for Frank. It had always been him. She didn’t want to think beyond his case, but to find this feeling and lose it…

He bent slightly down; worry and apprehension on his face. “Is this usual? I mean, what it is between us?”

Claire sighed, breathless, “No, it isn’t. I don’t understand it.”

“But it’s there, aye?” Jamie asked, his voice husky.

Claire nodded and saw his hand reach up to cup her face. She closed her eyes, waiting to feel his touch, but it never came. She opened her eyes and saw his hand fall. She looked at him questioningly.

“Are ye married?” He didn’t want to hear her say it.

Claire’s head dropped. She looked back at him and saw he’d already began to pull away.

“I’m separated.” Claire spoke quickly, “Divorcing. My marriage was over long ago. I was holding on to something that was never there.”

Jamie continued to move away. He stepped behind a sofa, distancing himself from her. “Lass, ye’ve lots going on. Ye shouldn’t be here. It isn’t right.”

“Right! Is it right for you to go to prison for something you didn’t do!? Jamie, I meant what I said. I can’t leave you. I just can’t. Please.” She didn’t try to keep the pleading from of her voice. “Please don’t push me away. I…there’s no one in my…heart. Even if you don’t want…or….well I can still help.” Her chin wobbled as she tried to smile.

 _A_ _dhia_ , the woman could tear him limb from limb.

She saw him hesitate, “I spoke to Phaedre. She went with John to help. He’s how I found you.” She slowly began to approach him again.

“The prosecutor?” Jamie ran his hand through his hair. “And ye spoke to my sister, I gather? Jamie shook his head, “Ye’ve the devil’s own courage and yer hard to get rid of.”

“Yup.” Claire smiled. “So stop trying.”

Jamie looked around. It’d be okay if she stayed, just until Murtagh returned to see her home safe.

“Are ye hungry?” he asked.

“I could eat.” They both began moving to the kitchen. Jamie pulled out plates and started to prepare her food. Claire smiled at him. Phaedre had mentioned he developed a taste for BBQ from his times visiting her. “You know, Boston isn’t exactly known for BBQ, not like the Carolinas.”

He returned her smile as he handed her a plate, “I’ll take what I can get. Lots better than the peanut butter and jelly I had to eat in jail. Strange combo that,” he said around mouthful of potato salad.

Claire looked down at her plate. She frowned at him, shook her head, and added more meat to her plate. “I’m not one _those_ girls,” she stated as she took a massive bite out of a pork rib. She pulled back and had BBQ sauce plastered on her nose.

Jamie burst into laughter and Claire followed suit. It was the first time either had heard the other truly laugh. Jamie motioned to Claire’s nose. She wiped away the sauce. Both suddenly shy, both looked down.

Claire gulped water from her glass. “How’d you get those?” Claire pointed to the two small scars on his cheek.

“Chopping wood.”

Claire laughed once more. The sound crisp and sharp. He’d make a fool of himself a million times over to hear it again.

“No, really. Not what you tell women you’re trying to chat up.”

“Ah,” Jamie raised his hand to his chest in mock offense. “Ye think I’d deceive a woman into thinking me interesting? I grew up on a farm.” He smiled broadly.

Claire didn’t think he’d have to deceive any woman into anything.

Suddenly she was struck with mild panic. “Um now that you’re going to fight the charges, maybe you’ll have others who are also going to help…maybe waiting for you…”

Claire picked up a piece of cornbread and began slathering an obscene amount of butter on to it.

Jamie grabbed her wrist, “Claire, there’s no one…no one else.”

He let go and her heart began to beat again. He looked at her lips and her heart sped up.

“Yer, husband’s French?”

Claire blinked at his question. She knew what he was doing. Trying to distract her from asking about his case. She’d play along, for now.

“No, he’s as English as the come. Beauchamp is my name, I never changed it.”

“Ah, how’d you end up here?”

So Claire told him; how she was orphan, how she was raised as a nomad by her archeologist uncle, how she met Frank through Lamb, how she followed Frank to America, and finally how Frank preferred other women.

“He played ye false?” Jamie looked aghast.

Claire almost laughed. “Yes, not so uncommon I suppose.” She pushed collard greens around her plate.

“It’s shameful. A man should keep his vows. He’s a fool and an arsehole. Claire saw he was completely serious. “If ye were mine, I’d….well….,” he let his voice trail off. He wouldn’t look at her, instead he grabbed the overbuttered cornbread from her plate and ate it in one bite.

“You’re unusual,” she blurted.

“Ah, well,” Jamie began to tap the table with his fingers, “don’t go putting me on pedestals, I’ve much to answer for.”

She waited for him to follow up. He didn’t and she didn’t push.

“Fair’s fair, your turn to answer my questions. I’ve met Jenny, what’s your brother like?” She wanted to keep him talking.

And so he did. He was charming and a natural storyteller. It was easy to be with him. She’d almost forgotten the trouble he was in. He’d been in a number of scrapes of his own making. She found herself shaking her head quite a few times. “I can’t believe you did that?” Claire stifled a laugh.

“What, it seemed like a grand idea at the time. I _can_ swim…” he grinned at her.

Somehow they’d ended up side by side on the living room sofa.

“How come you don’t have anyone?” Claire asked. “Too picky?”

She meant it lightly, but his response was anything but. “My Da told me the moment I met the woman who was meant for me, I’d know. There’d be no doubt. That’s how it was between him and my Mam.” He held her gaze, his eyes shimmered of topaz.

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want him to see how much she wanted him to choose her.

“Ye think that’s daft? He smiled wistfully.

Before she could respond, he motioned to the top of her head, “Let yer hair down.”

She wanted to resist. She’d never let a man tell her such a thing, but something in his tone made her refusal impossible. Slowly, she freed her hair. It fell in waves just past her shoulders. He said something in Gaelic and she felt her nipples tingle.  
  
She was unnerved by his power over her. She wanted to break his hold until she tilted her head to the side. He licked his lips and his eyes went to side of her neck. She realized he was just as much under her control.

“Don’t shave,” she ordered. “I want to see what you look like…..?

“Aye.” His good hand went to his jaw. “Ye’ll tell me when to start again?”

“Yes, yes I will.” Her voice seductive.   

She scooted closer.

He couldn’t think. He wanted to stand. He wanted to throw her out. He wanted her beneath him. _Where_ _the_ _hell_ _was_ _Murtagh_?

She grabbed his right hand with her left.

She whispered, “Jamie, tell me what happened? Tell me your plan?”

He didn’t answer.

She brought the back of her left hand to his check. Her breast grazed his arm as she did so. She gently stroked his face down to his jaw and the side of neck. She heard his breath hitch. She moved her mouth to his ear. She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her breath fan across his ear and neck.  
  
He chuckled, “No fair. I canna, I canna…”

“You can’t hide from me when we touch,” Claire surmised.

“Aye,” he breathed out. He turned toward her and placed his forehead to hers.

She ran her nose up and down the length of his. “Then don’t.”

She pulled back to ask again. He couldn’t take it. He grasped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to his.

 


	12. Submit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie reveals much...

After the initial rough meeting of their lips, Claire pulled back. Jamie thought to apologize, but before he could speak, she leaned in and placed a light, chaste kiss to his lips. As they separated, she slowly brought a hand to the strong line of his jaw. She felt his smile as she explored his stubble. In return, he cupped her cheek and traced her lips with his thumb. _Gah_ , _she_ _was_ _soft_. She closed her eyes and turned into his touch. Her lips were full and soft and he wanted more. He move close once again and kissed her more deeply. They quickly broke apart, both laughing and both smiling at each other. They were tentative. Both gauging how much was too much. How much each could give and take before it went too far. How much before they couldn’t stop.

 _Just_ _once_ _more_ , thought Jamie. He went back again, sucking on her top lip. Jamie expected Claire to pull back, instead she angled her head further and opened her mouth in invitation. She mewed as his tongue met hers. He could taste the twang of BBQ. Claire started to squirm to get closer. Jamie grabbed her around the waist and pulled her side saddle onto his lap. She grasped at his neck and kissed him. Claire felt wetness pool between her legs. _If_ _it_ _felt_ _this_ _good_ _to_ _kiss_ _him_ , _what_ _would_ _it_ _be_ _like_ _if_ _they_ _lay_ _together_.

He broke from her lips, leaned her back, twisted his hand in her hair and licked the entire column of her neck. Her whole body shivered and went limp. She felt at once completely vulnerable and completely safe. Jamie marveled at the trust she placed in him. _God_ _let_ _him_ _please_ _her_. He nipped at her neck, sucking and licking in turn. She began to make wee noises and wiggle in his arms. She sat upright and brought her hands to his face.

Hearts pounding, they knew they had to stop.

“Jamie…” Claire panted as she placed her forehead to his.

He exhaled loudly through his mouth. “I know, lass….”

Eyes closed, Claire tried to catch her breath. “I didn’t come here for this….”

“Ye didn’t?” Jamie asked innocently while he brought his hand to rest on her arse.

“Not just that!” She poked him in the ribs.

“Oof.” He chuckled and pulled her close.

After awhile she moved back and looked into his eyes. She felt odd; strangely exposed and frightened. His image blurred as she felt tears form. Not wanting him to see, she hugged him tight and buried her face in his neck.

“Claire, _mo_ _nighean_ _donn_ , it’s fine. It’s alright.” Jamie held her and moved his hand up and down her back. He heard her sniffle. “Look at me, lass. Here,” he pushed her further back on his lap.

She wiped at her eyes, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not a crier.” She avoided his eye. Jamie smiled at how angry she sounded with herself. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

“Ye’ve done good. Ye’ve found me. I’ll tell ye what you want to know, I’ll no send ye away, “ he soothed.

“You will… I mean you won’t?” Her voice small. She wiped at her nose.

He laughed. “Nae.” She smiled.

“Okay, well first, what did you just say in Gaelic? Mo knee…something? And the other part earlier?”

He looked perplexed. She realized he wasn’t aware he’d ever spoken to her in Gaelic.

“Oh, well that can wait,” he stated. I’ve still got my secrets, but I willna lie to you.” He kissed her temple.

He heard the door open and Murtagh poked his head in. Claire didn’t notice, but Jamie nodded above her head. He easily stood with her cradled in his arms. “Jamie, your arm!”

“Ye let me worry about my arm,” he started walking to the bedroom.

“Where are we going?”

“To bed.”

“But..?”

“To sleep.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Yer worn out, rest a bit before…everything.”

Claire thought to object, but whatever had passed between them _had_ left her exhausted. She wouldn’t be able to process his undoubtedly complicated story.

He gently placed her on the bed and removed her shoes. He sat down, the bed sinking under his weight. She rolled on her side and moved her head closer to his thigh. Claire couldn’t remember a time where she felt safer. She let out a contented sigh and burrowed into his leg. _Whatever_ _he_ _was_ _facing_ , _she’d_ _be_ _there_ , _helping_ _him_ , _together_. He pulled the covers around her shoulders and stroked her temple and ear until she fell asleep. He stood and her brow furrowed. He grabbed a discarded sweatshirt from the end of the bed and placed it around her. He hoped his smell would soothe her.

She settled back into sleep and he smiled down at her. How had this happened? How had this beautiful creature fallen into his life? He was responsible for her now. She’d risked everything to be here. Lord, please, please keep her safe. Please let this work. Let her have no regrets.

Jamie walked from the bedroom, keeping the door  slightly ajar in case Claire stirred and needed him.

“So, you didna send the lass away?” Murtagh asked while fishing through the remaining BBQ boxes. Jamie sighed and took a seat on a kitchen stool. “Try the pie, I’ll lift your spirits.” Jamie shook his head. “Well did ye at least…” Murtagh waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “I gave ye enough time.”

“No, ye old goat! Clearly ‘tis not the time.”

“Probably yer only chance.”

Jamie glanced back to the bedroom. Leaving Claire would be like drowning; struggling and grasping for air while your lungs burned and burst. Murtagh reached out and yanked Jamie by his bad arm. “Ack, stop!”

“Jamie, I understand yer reasons for keeping the lass close. Otherwise, she’d be sleeping outside the door, mucking up our plans and getting herself harmed, but –“

“You dinna understand anything!” Jamie’s eyes were wild, his voice venomous.

“Don’t I then?” Murtagh released his hold. His face and voice softened as he sat on the stool next to Jamie. “Ye think yer the only man to ever love a woman? To have yer soul ripped in two because….because it canna be.”

Jamie placed his head in his hand and looked down. “Nae, I’m sorry, I –“  
Murtagh patted Jamie’s back. “This plan is as likely to work as finding virtue in a hoor house. I’ll no leave ye to rot in an American jail out of sentiment. If Colum fails ye, we flee.”  
***  
Claire awoke disoriented. She’d temporarily forgotten where she was, then it all hit her. She reached for the small light on the table near her head. “Jamie?”

“Aye.” He was sitting on a small couch near the door, a laptop opened on his knee. “How do ye feel?”

She sat up. “Okay.” She furiously tried to tame her sleep disordered hair.

Jamie anticipated her next questions. “It’s just after midnight. I texted Phae. Told her ye’d stay here tonite.” Claire nodded.

“There’s a bathroom through there. Maybe ye’d like to freshen up and then we can have a wee chat.”

All playfulness was gone from his voice. Down to business. This is what you wanted, Beauchamp. Claire so wished they could go back to talking and joking.

After exiting the bathroom, Claire followed a dim light to the living area. Jamie was seated in near darkness, save a small light above the window behind him. He sat in the same spot where mere hours earlier he’d cradled her to his chest. She steeled herself and took the seat opposite him, a small coffee table between them. She noticed the two drams of whisky he’d poured out for them.

“Claire, you must promise me one thing first. Once ye know, ye’ll let me handle things. Ye’ll do as I say. If I need yer help, I’ll ask, but ye must do as I instruct.” His fingers lightly tapped his thigh.

She grabbed the glass and closed her eyes. She took a sip and let the burn slow her blood. She opened her eyes. “Tell me. I promise.”

Jamie nodded. “I _was_ there when Laoghaire was murdered. _And_ I didna lie before. I’ve never backed out.”

The glass felt like lead in her hand.

“Who did it? Did you recognize the person?

“Oh, aye, I’ve known her my whole life.”

“Her-?” Claire didn’t pretend to hide her surprise.

“It was my Aunt Maura, Dougal’s wife.”


End file.
